In Spite of Her Best Efforts
by kci47
Summary: When Hermione is faced with a door that won't open, it requires everything she possesses to unlock it. What she finds on the other side surprises her and horrifies everyone else. Written for "One Line Competition 2" on HFPC. Rating for a wee bit of language and general sadness. EWE; I put names to some final battle casualties.


The locked door fascinated and puzzled her. It was the only door here, the only way forward; so why was it locked? Perhaps it was a test of her determination and abilities. Very well, then: there was no one more determined than Hermione Granger, and she had yet to meet an obstacle that she couldn't get past. Pushing up her sleeves, she drew her wand and began her attempts to enter.

* * *

"_NO! HERMIONE! NO!"_

"_Ron, come on! We have to go!"_

"_NOT WITHOUT HERMIONE!"_

"_There's no time! She's not coming, Ron, let's go!"_

* * *

Hermione glared at the stupid wooden door with its stupid iron lock and its stupid boring knob. She kicked it, for good measure, but it did not unlock.

"You're stupid!" she shouted at it, frustrated. This did not unlock the door for her, either.

Jamming her wand in the keyhole, she decided she'd take a page from Fred and George's book and try to open it using tried and true Muggle methods.

* * *

"_Ron, I'm sure she's fine, Madam Pomfrey-"_

"_Is really busy with the others. What—what if we were the only ones who saw her, Harry? We have to go back-"_

"_We c-c-can't, Ron, it's t-too late now... Just, let's just keep moving..."_

* * *

Angrily holding a broken wand, Hermione glowered at the firmly locked door. No longer fascinated, she was completely mystified and supremely aggravated. No spell, no enchantment, no amount of lock-picking had opened the door to her, and it was seriously affecting her self-esteem.

She was Hermione Granger, war heroine! Hermione Granger, the one who'd broken into—and out of—Gringott's Bank. Hermione Granger, the one who'd found and destroyed Voldemort's Horcruxes. Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's best friend and life-saver since age eleven! Honestly, the fact that the door remained locked to _her _of all people was such a slap in the face that she could hardly bear it.

Turning her back to the door (she was certain it was mocking her), she leaned against it and slid to the floor. She didn't even have a functioning wand now, thanks to the unyielding iron lock. Resting her head against the offending door and closing her eyes, she fought the defeated tears that threatened to spill over.

* * *

_She couldn't see anything, but her other senses were in overdrive. Screams pierced the air from all directions. Her nose filled with the sickening scents of smoke, sweat, and blood, and the acrid taste of ash choked her as it filled her mouth with each breath. She lifted an arm to pull her shirt over her nose and mouth, but at the movement her entire body filled with pain so unspeakable she was paralyzed. _

_She couldn't even scream as the agony locked every cell of her body into a frozen, twisted lump. _

* * *

The wood of the door didn't even have the common decency to be rough. No, it was a smooth finish, and Hermione reluctantly admired the handiwork of the carpenter even as she cursed whoever had created this un-openable door. Knocking her head against it, Hermione allowed the frustrated tears to fall.

And then she heard it—sounds, behind the door.

* * *

"_Here's another one, Neville."_

"_Dead or alive?"_

"_Let me check." _

_Hot, sticky hands pressed against her throat, and the pain made her want to die._

"_Dead, I think." _

_Dead? No! Nonononono! She wasn't dead, not yet, couldn't they see?_

"_Take her over with the others, then. Who is—oh, nooo!" _

_The utter despair in the wail pierced her heart, and she tried desperately to signal to the person crying that she was still alive—but she couldn't find the force of will move. _

* * *

Pressing an ear to the blasted door, Hermione listened intently. It sounded as though there were a great many people behind the door, for the babble of voices seemed loud and varied. The door was so thick, however, as to render the voices indistinguishable.

Full of renewed determination, Hermione began to beat on the horrible door with both fists, yelling and screaming for the people on the other side to hear.

* * *

"_Neville, what on earth—oh, my gracious!"_

_The sound of her beloved Professor McGonagall crying great, racking sobs tore through Hermione. Now there were more and more voices coming closer. _

"_Who-"_

"_What's going on-"_

"_Not Hermione! No!"_

"_Someone get Madam Pomfrey!"_

"_It's too late, she's gone-"_

"_Where are Ron and Harry? Who's going to tell them?"_

"_NOOOOOOOO..."_

* * *

Ten minutes had passed, and Hermione's hands were torn and bloody. There were splinters in her knuckles and her toes were likely broken from repeated kicks to the door. Still it remained closed to her. The sounds on the other side had paused briefly for a moment, and she had become hopeful—but just as quickly, they resumed, louder than before.

Groaning, Hermione laid on the floor in front of the door, hoping that someone would come along shortly and find her.

* * *

_On the floor of the Great Hall, Hermione laid, still as a statue. The pain was becoming more intense, if that was possible, and she felt the fight ebbing out of her. All around her were soft murmurs and the sounds of people crying. She wanted to comfort them, honestly she did, but...she was more concerned, now, with finding a way out of her own pain. _

* * *

Hermione was uncertain how long she'd laid there. It could have been seconds or days, it hardly mattered. This door was the symbol of everything she'd ever failed to do in her life: she'd failed to save Professor Snape, she'd failed to tell Ron how much she loved him, she'd failed to make sure that Harry lived. She'd failed, period.

* * *

_Hermione tried to dredge up one last burst of strength, and failed. Cursing herself for her weakness, she begged whoever was watching over her to let it end. _

* * *

Silent tears running down her cheeks, Hermione wondered if she could just stay right here forever. The echoing 'click' did not even register at first.

When it did, she leapt up and stared at the bloody, hateful door. The lock was open! Somehow, she had opened the door, or it had opened itself—she hardly cared.

Rushing forward, she shoved against the smooth wood with all her might (and perhaps a bit too much force, but after all, the door deserved it) and fell through to the other side.

* * *

"_Ron, Harry, before you go in, there's something you should-"_

"_Hermione, is she alright?"_

"_HERMIONE!" _

"_I'm afraid she-"_

"_NO! You're lying! HERMIONE!" _

"_There was nothing we could do, we tried everything-"_

* * *

The voices stopped immediately, and Hermione finally heard the upbeat music that was playing in the room. Looking around curiously, Hermione wondered where in the castle this room might be, because she'd never seen it before.

The great arched windows let in bright streams of sunlight, and the high ceiling was festooned with ribbons and filled with balloons. People filled the room from end to end, and they were all staring at her now. Hermione focused on the person closest to her.

"Professor Flitwick? What is this place?"

"Miss Granger! Oh, Miss Granger, you aren't supposed to be here..."

The tiny professor moaned, distraught, and Hermione began to grow irritated again.

"I had a hard enough time getting in, thank you, but if you don't want me here then I'll just go-"

"You can't go now," a soft voice said from her side. Turning, Hermione looked into the gentle eyes of Remus Lupin.

"Professor...?"

"There is no leaving this room, Hermione," he told her gently.

Panicking without knowing why, Hermione spun and looked for the door. It was gone! What kind of door disappeared? Racing along the back wall, Hermione pressed her hands to the stone, feeling for a hinge or knob or catch. There was nothing.

"Foul, bloody, cursed door..." Hermione didn't care who heard her. Spinning around, she looked fearfully at the others gathered in the room.

* * *

"_What if she was still alive when we saw her, Harry? What if we let her-"_

"_NO, Ron, you can't let your mind go there. She was probably already—already—"_

_Renewed sobs rang out in the otherwise silent hall as those gathered looked wretchedly on. _

* * *

"G-George?" Hermione asked hopefully. The redhead shook his head _no _and gave her the saddest smile she'd ever seen on either twin's face. Swallowing thickly, Hermione's eyes moved over the crowd. Tonks was standing next to Sirius, their arms linked like children. Cedric Diggory stood near a table laden with food, surrounded by a group of students garbed in the red, yellow, blue, and yes, even green, of the Hogwarts houses. Hermione nearly fell over when she spotted Professor Snape lurking in the back, black robes billowing as always. The familiar faces continued. Terry Boot. Professor Sinistra. Colin Creevey. Dobby.

Her suspicions of this room were growing more and more certain, but still she fought acknowledging them—until she saw Dumbledore striding towards her, a kind but mournful expression on his face.

"Miss Granger, it is usually a pleasure, but I'm afraid this time...I'm quite sorry to see you, my dear."

Hermione stumbled backwards, shaking her head. No. No, this couldn't be happening! This room, it couldn't be—it couldn't mean—

"No!"

* * *

"_No!" Ron threw himself frantically over Hermione's body. "You can't take her, not yet, just let me stay with her-"_

"_It's been an hour already, Ron," Molly urged with a voice raspy from tears. "It's time to let her go." _

* * *

Hermione stood, alone in a sea of those who had lost their lives to Voldemort or his followers. It was completely unfathomable that she would find herself here...

The door. She blamed the damned door.

No wonder it had refused to admit her for so long. No wonder they hadn't opened it for her. She wondered idly if her determination to solve the riddle it presented was her downfall. Perhaps she should have ignored the horrid thing and maybe she would have been returned to her body.

**Maybe...if only...perhaps. **

Meaningless words, now.

* * *

_In the light of the swiftly setting sun, the survivors of the final battle gathered in the Hall once more to honor those who had died. The death toll was estimated at 57 witches and wizards, but it was far from final—Lavender Brown, among others, was fighting for her life in the Hospital Wing. _

_The candles cast a somber glow around the room, their flames reflecting off the tears coursing down every face as the names were read and the shrouded bodies placed into caskets. Though they had won the war, this was hardly a celebration. _

* * *

Shoulders drooping slightly, Hermione allowed herself to say the words out loud.

"I'm dead."

"Oh, my dear, you've no idea how sorry we are," Professor Flitwick exclaimed. "We kept hoping you'd disappear from the other side, but..." He frowned and Hermione looked at him with a start.

"Oh! And what about you, Professor? I can't believe you're here, too—any of you." Hermione glanced around. "How-"

"You know what, Miss Granger? This discussion is perhaps more easily had when one is eating and making merry," Dumbledore cut in. "As I'm sure you've noticed, we're having ourselves a bit of a celebration here. After all, the war is over, and our parts have been played. Please, let us not dwell on our losses today, but rejoice in our contributions and take solace in the company of one another." He gestured towards the room in a sweeping motion, and Hermione remembered the raucous noise she'd heard when she was listening on the other side of the door.

It seemed they had been mid-party when she arrived. How peculiar...and yet, as the music started again and the sounds of chatter once more filled the room, Hermione thought it seemed just right. There was nothing she could do now, in any case; no more puzzles to be solved, people to be saved, or malignant doors to be unlocked. Smiling slightly as Fred lifted her and swung her easily in a circle, Hermione thought there could be much worse places to be than here.

* * *

**A/N: This idea popped into my head today, not quite sure why. It's for WeasleySeeker's One Line Competition 2, and the only rule is that the story must start with this sentence: "The locked door fascinated and puzzled her." I don't usually write dark stories, but I thought of Hermione fighting to get through the door, only to realize that it meant she'd died. Anyway, this is mostly canon, although I admit to taking some liberties with the casualties since JKR is so vague about who died. Also, I'm not JKR.**


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